Primo Victoria
by Deadfictionalcharacters
Summary: Historical Hetalia WW2 fic, based off of the D-Day landings, and FACE family centric.


**Hello, Deadfictionalcharacters here, showcasing that she is a massive nerd. Don't expect too much out of this fic, I wrote most of it at 2 am.**

 _6th June,1944, around 6:27 AM._

Alfred F Jones had chosen to go with the 2nd Ranger Battalion for a reason. They were like him, after all, willing to fight, excited by the war, he could understand them, work well with them, as he had with some of them in the past, in part of the North Africa campaign. He knew these men, had trained with them, had fought with them.

However, what he did not know, was the shape of the cliffs ahead of him, considering how well he had been briefed, and how well he had briefed his soldiers. This was not Pointe du Hoc, he was sure of it, and it appeared that he wasn't the only one feeling that way, thank god, because he saw the craft at the front veer very quickly right, almost straight into another wave. Sea spray hit his face, and, after being laughed at by another soldier, he made a face, and tried to spit it out, to no avail.

"Dude, this sucks, I mean, we're gonna be late now and everything. At least I'm not a stickler for that kinda stuff though, like Germany, or Iggy, haha!" He laughed, before looking back at the cliffs, spotting the German troops mobilising, and realising that oh, we've lost the element of surprise. That doesn't matter though, he thought to himself, we just have to be extra fast, and then we can take out their defences! Simple, right?

Watching the machine gun fire coming from the tops of the cliff however, he felt less sure. Still, he kept a smile on his face, best to keep morale up, after all, and he was sure that this would go well, after all, they'd been training for this for absolutely years, and he wasn't even exaggerating this time. Besides, he'd seen the bombardment, nothing could survive that amount of firepower, surely. And there were still the warships! USS Satterlee would still be there! That'd protect them!

The shore approached, and, America wouldn't lie to himself, the choppiness of the sea was making him nauseous. Not just the sort of "I feel slightly uncomfortable" type of nausea, the gut wrenching, world spinning, I-feel-like-my-stomach-is-going-to-eject-itself-from-my-body type of nausea. Although, he reasoned, the nervousness that he definitely was not feeling could have played a part in it.

Still, it's not as if he hadn't expected the bad weather, Eisenhower had nearly called off the attack because of it. Of course, that didn't lessen the effects in any way. He breathed in, trying to shake it off, and looked towards the beach, littered with defences, and then saw Lt Colonel Rudder give the order to attack. "Go! Go!" He shouted at his men, scrambling to get out of the landing craft, and then sprinting towards the cliff. Next to him, he heard the whistle of a bullet, saw a spurt of blood, and heard a man fall dead to the ground, and Alfred's excited grin turned into a hard-set grimace, and another wave of dread began to settle upon him, but he waved it off, telling himself that "it's war, course there'll be casualties, we're gonna win this!"

He reached the cliff within a few seconds, wincing each time another body fell to the ground. Bullets flew past him, each one sending up a small plume of sand.

The ropes needed to be shot up, but this part was where he knew what to do. England had spent most of the last few years training him for this moment, making his battalion scale the cliffs of the Isle of Wight, of Dover. Heck, to America, both of those climbs seemed like they'd be harder.

Climbing up, he understood how exposed they were to the fire. Every few seconds, he would hear the sound of a body hitting the sand. Whether they'd been shot with a bullet, or simply fallen off, it didn't matter. They were dead either way. Alfred simply looked up, and climbed the ladder as fast as he damn could, trying hard not to watch the deaths of his friends. Why did they have to die so quickly?

He felt the ropes he were climbing begin to sway. "Shit," he yelled, "They're cutting 'em!" clinging to the rock face, before trying to shoot up another rope. Others, however were not so lucky, and Alfred could only stare as he watched one man stiffen and fall from the ropes, an eternity seeming to pass as the man bounced off of the outcroppings and ledges of the sheer cliff face, an expression of shock frozen on his face, before landing with a resounding thud on the sand, his blood staining the ground around him red.

Alfred gritted his teeth, and tried to climb up. They were who he had to fight for. His people. He couldn't let them be hurt, they didn't deserve it, it wasn't fair. The man who fell, America knew him. They'd stayed in the same dorm in training, his name was George Wilkin, he had a sweetheart back home. His whole life, his future, any dreams he might've had, all gone.

He didn't want the job of telling George's sweetheart.

He shook his head, shaking with it the thoughts of the future and the past. What mattered was now, taking the guns. He needed to take the Pointe du Hoc guns, or so many more of his people would die.

Finally, he reached the top of the cliff, clambering over it, and firing a few shots with a sub machine gun to try provide a bit of cover for the ones still trying to get up. The machine gun fire was all around, a constant rat-a-tat-tat that brought death, until one of the platoon commanders threw a grenade into the machine gun nest, and it was silenced, before a group of German soldiers, presumably the gunners, ran out of an underground tunnel, guns blazing, until those two were silenced, the rest of their operators with them.

From a few metres away, he heard Lt. Colonel Rudder give out a shout, whilst hitting his radio in an attempt to make it work, "Praise the Lord!" Meaning that everyone was over the cliffs. Except Alfred not need to look over the edge to know that no, not everyone was over the cliffs, and no, not everyone would ever be over the cliffs.

Still, he looked around, and everything was chaotic, but still according to plan. Germany was nowhere to be seen, which was good, Alfred reasoned, it meant that he might not even be aware of the attack yet, he could just be waving off the pain as from the eastern front, or a bombing raid. If Germany didn't know what was going on, then it'll definitely be easier to win here! And if they're so disorganised here, then the rest of the war should be simple!

However, he could almost imagine England scolding him for being so optimistic, especially since he was in the middle of battle-get yourself together Alfred!

Just in time, he managed to pull himself together again, thank goodness, as Alfred very quickly found a mortar bomb hurtling in his direction. He dived into a nearby crater from the earlier shelling, thankful for its shelter. Resting his gun on the edge of it, and firing a few shots at some of the Germans, he started to count his remaining bullets. Shit... The Rangers were meant to be a light unit, they'd run out of artillery soon...

And they were late, so their backup wouldn't come...

ShitShitShit

They just needed to destroy the guns, that's their objective. After that, defend their position...they can use Germany's guns?

While he was mulling that over, he realised that there was another soldier in the crater, one of his, thankfully, but he was poking him, and pointing at one of the gun emplacements, and how it seemed to be unguarded. Alfred nodded, and started towards it, but the man tried to hold him back, before signalling for another soldier to back them up. All three ducked down and crawled out of the shell hole, before sprinting to the gun emplacement.

Once inside, they threw themselves against the wall, trying to keep under cover. All three of them looked up, and at once, a cold dread began to trickle into them, starting at their chests and spreading to the rest of their bodies, nauseating them, striking fear into their hearts.

The second man was the first one to comment on it, after sucking in a sharp breath, as if trying to summon strength, "The guns... aren't here? How the hell are we meant to destroy them if they're not fucking here?! What the fuck?" His voice continued to raise with anger and annoyance, until his companion put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to get him to be quiet.

"Hey dude, chill, we just have to find the guns, I mean, they've gotta be somewhere, and it's not like we can just turn around now. We've been trained for this kinda crap from the beginning, and they've got the beachhead here covered, let's just go and find 'em!" Alfred grinned, adrenaline and optimism coursing through his veins.

The first soldier tried to speak up, "Um...are you sure? I mean-"

"We're Rangers right? We were trained to think for ourselves, lets go!" He fumbled around in his jacket for a second, "uhhh... let's check outside before we go."

The second soldier rolled his eyes, "whatever, sounds good to me," and ducked out of the emplacement, quickly followed by the first soldier, and then Alfred.

The first soldier, America now realised that his name was Robert, looked between the second soldier- John and Alfred with a determined look in his eye, and declared that he would cover them. Alfred and John nodded, and trio ran away from the beach, towards a road marked on their map, Robert staying slightly behind, and shooting backwards while running, before crouching down as they waited at the crossroads, finger over the trigger, aimed back at the beach.

Alfred scanned the area, and almost immediately let out a noise that was somewhere between a sigh of relief and a laugh. "Dude, look, right here- it's gun carriage tracks! They're this way!" He couldn't stop himself from grinning at this.

"Huh, yeah, you're right- Hey Robert, check this out, they're this way."

Robert peered his head round, and nodded, standing up, "Let's go then," he said quietly, and started to walk along the road, gun still cocked.

Alfred and Robert nodded, and followed after him. They walked in a line, to offer the maximum protection from a surprise attack from the bushes. For that same reason they stayed completely silent as they walked, each man constantly scanning the immediate area, the trees around himself, the ground beneath his feet, and, most importantly, the gun carriage tracks.

They were completely alert, each gunshot from the beach causing them to look around, each noise sending a fresh course of adrenaline coursing through their veins. These instincts however, were not for nothing. After about 2 miles of walking, they heard a large group of German soldiers further along the road. At once, they dived int the bushes, ignoring the leaves stabbing into them.

What happened after that, however, seemed to be one of those less-rare-than-you'd-expect moments in history, where it seems as if a deus ex machina situation has provided itself, for no reason except for sheer luck. Perhaps life looked upon these soldiers and decided that they needed it. Robert crawled out of the bush, into a field on the other side, and started tugging on John's sleeves, his eyes wide.

John and America both turned around at the same time, so both wound up with the same expression of shock. Had there not been a group of soldiers that vastly outnumbered them just metres down the road, Alfred looked like he would've shrieked with happiness.

There, in front of them, were the guns.

 **Three documentaries and two books later, I feel like I'll scream if I ever see the words "Pointe du Hoc" again.**


End file.
